


Haunted

by UndeadDolly



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Boys In Love, Idiots in Love, Love at First Sight, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-13 16:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18473038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndeadDolly/pseuds/UndeadDolly
Summary: “You’ll do as I say. Whether in life or death, I am still your prince.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As requested, I discontinued using first person POV.  
> And so, I rewrote chapter one in third person POV.  
> I hope you enjoy reading.  
> Goodnight, my loves.  
> Sweet dreams.

Unlike other teenagers, Prompto can communicate with ghosts.

Despite being alive, Prompto felt like he’s already dead or dying. After all, Prompto’s a paranormal magnet – haunted by ghosts, who have unfinished businesses. And, he’s forced to help them – somehow free them, or else he’ll remain haunted by them forever.

When he was young, Prompto was sent to various places for troubled youths. This was because of his parents – frightened by him talking to the thin air, except he wasn't conversing with himself. They didn't believe him – thought that their son was mentally ill, that these _imaginary friends_ of his were just a figment of his imagination.

Of course, Prompto was diagnosed and given pills. That didn't do anything, just make things far worse than they already were. They somehow heightened his abilities – exposed him more to the realm of the undead, to those that lurk between worlds.

He’s at one of these gateways - the Citadel, where he had seen many residual energies already. It’s been giving him a headache – flooding his mind, with horrors of the past. He had seen so many memories, so many historical events that weren't even documented.

“What do you think?” Mrs. Argentum asked, taking her gloves off. “Isn't this place lovely? This used to belong to the Lucis royal family, but now the Citadel is ours. This will be our new home, darling.”

“I’m … I’m excited,” Prompto assured, as she hugged him. “It’ll be different, but I’m excited.”

“You’re such a good boy. Why don’t you go upstairs and pick out your bedroom?”

“I … I think I already have one in mind.”

“You do now, but how?”

“It’s … It’s in the West Wing, the bedroom facing the royal gardens.”

“That’s His Highness’ bedroom. And I think that bedroom will be perfect for you.”

“I’m … I’m going to check it out.”

“Alright, then. If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.”

XOXO

In all honesty, Prompto wasn't excited.

In fact, Prompto was afraid. After all, Prompto had sensed something sinister – malevolent and malicious, oppressing the Citadel. It was dark and dangerous – something bestial and barbaric, something from the deep and dark depths of hell.

However, Prompto had sensed another. It wasn't evil, but dominating. He let them guide him – into His Highness’ bedroom, where he came across a portrait. He stood underneath the painting – studying the handsome young man, with bewitching black locks and blue eyes. He felt safe – protected beneath His Highness' gaze, whose death he couldn't stop reliving.

So, Prompto ran toward the bedroom door. It shut right before him – trapping him, as he flew through the air. He landed atop the bed – pinned down, an onyx mass hovering above him. He shook his head – saying no, to the dominating spirit.

It didn't listen to him, though. He was sent into the past – watching a battle between two nations, specifically Niflheim and Lucis. He thrashed around – squirming and struggling, not wanting to see anymore.

“Son!” Mr. Argentum cried, hurriedly embracing Prompto. “What’s happening? Are you okay? Should I call the ambulance?”

“N-No,” Prompto croaked, violently convulsing. “I-I’ll be fine.”

“You should take your pills.”

“I-I don’t want to.”

“You must, Prompto. It’s doctor’s orders.”

“O-Okay …"

“That’s my good boy now. You stay put. I’ll go get your mother.”

XOXO

In a moment, Prompto heard his mother’s stilettos.

Then, Prompto began being coddled. He tried reassuring his mother, but that was in vain. He was ignored, like always by his parents. He couldn't get a word in, especially because his parents phoned his doctor. He sighed and rolled his eyes – listening to them talk, explicitly about him and his _condition_.

They don’t listen to him, to their one and only son. They rather listen to doctors, who keep trying to over and over again institutionalize him. He won’t let that happen – never will he be institutionalized and treated differently, when there is nothing wrong with him.

He’s just gifted – harnessing powers, that makes him a medium for the departed. He’s not a willing medium - far from willing, though he’s the only one who can help those that have passed on.

If he had the chance, he would happily give up his powers. Until then, he will continue to help those who no other can help besides himself. After all, he would want someone to help him move on if he was still lingering in limbo.

“It’s happening again. My son’s spasms are back,” Mrs. Argentum worried, as she clutched the phone. “What’s happening to my son, doctor?”

“That can’t be,” Mr. Argentum warned, clenching his fists. “We cannot keep changing his medications, doctor. My son is so young. He shouldn't be going through this.”

“It’s our only option, sweetheart. Let’s listen to the good doctor.”

“This will be the last time. If our son doesn't get better, we're switching hospitals. Good day, doctor.”

“I hope our Prompto gets better.”

“Me, too.”

XOXO

He was left alone, then.

He was still shaking – trembling and twitching, as his mind opened doorways. He clutched his blond locks – tugging them harshly, to ground himself with pain. He returned to the present, but with knowledge long forgotten. He quickly sat up, not before stumbling down. His body was weak, just spent from exhausting his powers.

He crawled toward the portrait, anyway. He knelt before His Highness - tears streaming down his face, still he nodded his head. He agreed to help His Highness – lend him his aid, specifically his powers.

He sensed His Highness, then. He could feel His Highness standing behind him, the dominating aura surrounding him. The crown prince seemed so sad, so horribly heartbroken. The ill-fated prince didn't seem anything like the young man in his textbooks. The deceased prince was revealing another side of himself to him. The dead prince was revealing who he really is.

He doesn't judge spirits, though. That is someone else’s job – whether Gods, Angels, Devils, or Demons, but certainly not his.

“You’re in danger,” Noctis said, as he turned around and stood up. “You and your whole family are in danger.”

“Why?” Prompto squeaked, his teeth chattering and chin quivering. “And why did you show me those memories? What do they mean? What do you want?”

“I just don’t want any more people to die in my home, at the hands of my tormented ancestor. That’s why you must help me, to stop him from shedding any more blood.”

“How many people died in here?”

“I believe thousands have died in my home. It was a massacre.”

“If that’s true, then how can I help you?”

“You’ll do as I say. Whether in life or death, I am still your prince.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**A/N:** What do you think? Leave me your thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

On the balcony, Prompto saw someone.

However, Prompto wasn't afraid. It was His Highness – illuminating the bedroom, with his presence. He threw the balcony doors open – standing beside His Highness, who laughed dryly and bitterly. He followed His Highness’ gaze – directed toward the heavens, which were so lovely.

Then, Prompto sensed fury. He sensed anger – from being earthbound, from being denied peace. His Highness wanted to rest, to reunite with his family and friends. That can’t be, as His Highness had unfinished business.

But, Prompto began reminiscing. He helped similar spirits – trying to move on, trying to touch the stars. It’s always so heartbreaking – watching them struggle, watching them mourn. It’s sometimes tear-jerking, like right now.

Yet, Prompto hated crying. He hid his tears – wiping away the teardrops, using his sleeves. He couldn't forever, his sleeves were soaked. It felt uncomfortable, just awkward and embarrassing.

“Don’t be ashamed. It’s okay to cry,” Noctis said, his apparition flickering. “It doesn't make you any less of a man.”

“I know, Your Highness. It’s just I’m scared,” Prompto squeaked, cheeks flushing pink. “I don’t want to fail you. Though, I've never faced a demon before.”

“He wasn't always a demon. He was once a man, but he fell from grace.”

“What happened to him, Your Highness?”

“I wish I could tell you. You’ll learn more through my journals right now than me. They’re stored in the library.”

“Why not, Your Highness? What’s wrong?”

“My strength is fading. I've strayed from my grave long enough for one night.”

“When will you come back, Your Highness? You will come back, right?”

“Of course, I will.”

XOXO

At night, Prompto couldn't fall asleep.

So, Prompto got out of bed. He walked outside – into the hallway, which were dreadfully dark. He heard whispering – spirits talking quietly, with their echoing voices. He ignored them – their haunted hushed conversations, when they’re just remnants. It’s just residual energy - events or emotions tearing reality, where realms bleed together.

Then, Prompto saw something. His breath beautifully materialized – shimmering and shining, in his lighter’s flares. He shivered and shuddered – rubbing his arms, but began walking quicker. He sensed a presence, that dark and demonic presence. It was nearby, just watching and waiting to pounce. It wanted to hurt him, notably possess him.

However, Prompto isn't normal. He’s a medium – channeling the deceased, through himself. He’d be perfect – the perfect candidate, that’ll handle demonic possession easier. His body can tolerate the possession, the otherworldly pressure. His gifts are awful, to allow such nightmarish manifestations. It felt like a curse, a punishment from above.

Obviously Prompto won’t surrender. He’ll never succumb – never allow that thing entry, into his realm. He’ll stay strong – free the Citadel, of ghostly inhabitants. He’ll help them somehow, or they’ll haunt him and his family forever.

“I can hear you,” the demon snickered, howling with laughter. “You've been plotting, with _His Highness_. My descendant is foolish, to think that a mortal can best me. I do find you interesting. I will admit to that.”

“Is that so?” Prompto smirked, looking around. “I heard you were a mortal once, that you were human. How hard can you be to fight, then?”

“Why don’t I show you, mortal?!”

“Don’t hold back, _demon_!”

XOXO

Without hesitation, Prompto ran away.

In the library, Prompto drew wards. He knelt down – tracing strange symbols, with a chalk. It kept demons away – denied them entry, whether eternally or not. It depended on him – on his faith, which wasn't strong. It kept faltering and fluctuating – belief and doubt, when he faces demonic entities.

In addition, Prompto felt forlorn and forsaken. He felt abandoned and damned – scorned and shunned, by the heavens. He begged and beseeched – for forgiveness and mercy, but hadn't received none. His gifts bolstered and broadened – reinforced and reformed, beyond his imagination.

However, Prompto couldn't control them. He kept excreting ectoplasm – horrifying his parents, who thought he’s having seizures. It always happened – during involuntary trances, while spirits manifested. It was awful – witnessing deaths and deaths, whenever he’s asleep or alone.

Yet, Prompto is understanding. He helped them – those desperate spirits, notably murder victims. He helped them get revenge – solve their case, before freeing them. It doesn't get tiring – always somehow different, besides challenging and conflicting.

“Who are you?” Prompto asked, eyes narrowing. “What do you want?”

“I mean you no harm. I’m Ignis Scientia, royal retainer of His Highness,” Ignis assured, with a small smile. “I came to help you. After all, I heard you were seeking His Highness’ journal. And when Lucis fell, I hid them.”

“Why would you do that? There must be so much information in His Highness’ journal, information we could've used in rebuilding Lucis.”

“I’m well aware, but there are some information that must stay a secret.”

“You’re willing to share these secrets with me, though.”

“You’re the only one who can help us.”

“I get that a lot.”

“I would think so.”

XOXO

In time, Prompto thanked the strange spirit.

Then, Prompto took his leave. He walked quietly – gripping His Highness’ journal, as his knuckles paled. He heard whispering – incomprehensible and incoherent, amid the hallways. He ignored them – thinking they’re residual energy, albeit timeless relics. It’s just remnants – realms collapsing and colliding, amidst demonic influence.

Therefore, Prompto stayed alert. He remained cautious – cloaking and concealing himself, in the shadows. He used the moonlight – following glimmering and gleaming rays, into the west wing. He then knelt down – hurriedly drawing symbols, including idyllic cleansing charms.

Thus, Prompto cut his finger. He touched the floor – hurriedly drawing again, with his blood. He was securing – binding by blood, which strengthen the enchantments. It’s necessary – an important exchange, when performing magic. It’s shows devotion and dedication – to those lending him magic, who command utmost loyalty.

Though, Prompto doesn't mind. He needed magic, for fighting and protection. It’s quite addicting – casting spells and summoning, foolishly for a mere price. It’s the perfect deal – the perfect delightful bargain, fanciful in many ways.

“I know you’re there,” Prompto said, turning around. “How long have you been watching me, spirit?”

“The name is Gladiolus Amicitia, but you can call me Gladio. I’m His Highness’ shield,” Gladiolus smirked, with a chuckle. “I was curious about you. I’ve never met a medium before. You’re just a kid, though. You’re the same age … the same age …"

“You've only just met me.”

“And I shouldn't underestimate you. It’s just I don’t like relying on someone so young. You’re only eighteen, the same age when Prince Noctis died.”

“I’m no ordinary _kid_ , though.”

“Neither was His Highness.”

“You have the two of us, then.”

“We’ll see where this goes.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

**A/N:** What do you think? Leave me your thoughts.


End file.
